


Night Terrors

by KayleighH2203



Series: Heart one-shots and ficlets [1]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Comfort, F/M, Night Terrors, Nightmares, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Sleep
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-09
Updated: 2018-10-09
Packaged: 2019-07-28 18:09:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16247057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KayleighH2203/pseuds/KayleighH2203
Summary: Thranduil has a nightmare





	Night Terrors

**Night terrors**

 

Morag awoke with a jolt. For a moment, there was nothing but silence. Then the bed shook and a long groan came. She looked over. Thranduil was laid beside her, his eyes screwed shut, his hands clutching the bed covers. Every muscle in his body seemed to be tensed, his breath coming in pants.   
“Thranduil?” she said gently at first. She was answered by another groan through clenched teeth. She leaned over him.   
“Thranduil,” she said more firmly. It didn’t seem to have any effect. Whatever nightmare that was plaguing the Elven-King, he was too deep into it to hear her. She swallowed nervously. There had been very few times where he had fallen into such a deep sleep beside her. His kind needed it rarely compared to the mortal races of the world.

 

He let out a pained cry, his head thrashing from side to side. His fisted hands ripped the bedspread from over them as he fought against some unseen enemy.   
“Thranduil!” Morag cried, unsure of how to bring him out of the dream. The Elven-King began to shout out in his sleep. Apparent gibberish at first but slowly, one word seemed to be repeated over and over again.   
“ _ Amlug _ !” he shouted, “ _ Amlug _ !” His whole body began to thrash about and Morag heard the familiar clatter of the guards as they raced down the stairs into the King’s chambers. Morag quickly pulled the bedspread back over Thranduil’s naked form and held it down as best she could.

 

Two guards appeared in the dim candlelight.   
“Leave,” Morag commanded almost drowned out by the King’s shouts. The guards hesitated.   
“I said leave!” she barked, “It’s a nightmare, you can’t help him!” They withdrew and Morag returned her attention to the terrorised sleeper. He had ceased shouting but his pants were panicked and his head was still thrashing, like he was trying to look around. He let out a terrified cry, a sound Morag had never heard him make before. His head stilled and she moved closer to him. She saw the faint shimmer she had seen years before and held her breath. The flesh on one side of his face seemed to melt away. He whimpered a single word. Morag had never heard that word before and would never repeat what she heard. She knew by the basic form and sound of it that it was a name, a dragon’s name.

 

The nightmare that plagued her King was no nightmare. It was a memory. He was reliving the day he had come face to face with a dragon and almost lost.    
“Thranduil,” she said gently, “Come back to me.” She traced one hand down the scarred side of his face.   
“Come back,” she said, “I’m here. Come back.” His movements slowed as she pressed her hand against his mutilated cheek. His breathing evened out slowly.   
“ _ Melethril _ ? Morag,” he breathed as his eyes fluttered open. One piercing blue, the other milky-white and virtually blind. Morag’s hand slipped to his chest. His heart was pounding.   
“It’s alright,” she said, trying to soothe him, “That dragon is long gone.”   
“I...I dreamt….” he started before sitting bolt upright, “Where is Nell?”   
“Our daughter is safe, sound asleep in her chambers, watched over by the guard you chose for her,” Morag answered. Thranduil’s shoulders relaxed.   
“I dreamt that he came back,” he said, one hand reaching up to his scars, “That he dug his way out of the pit he was buried in and came back for me. That he took Nell, and you. I dreamt the darkness of the last Age returned, to consume us all.”

 

His hand dropped from his face and instead, he reached out to her. His fingers ran through her errant black curls.   
“I thought I had lost you,” he said gently, his voice laced with genuine fear, “I thought I had lost our daughter.”   
“The dragon is dead,” Morag said, pushing on his shoulder to make him lay down, “He is gone and if he ever dares crawl out of that pit, I will put him back into it personally for daring to disturb my sleep.”   
“That I do not doubt,” Thranduil said quietly as Morag lay down next to him. His arm encircled her shoulders, holding her tight. They lay in silence for a while before either one of them spoke again.   
“Thranduil, would you feel better if your sword was under the pillow?” Morag asked.   
“Yes,” was the reply in the darkness.


End file.
